


Serendipity

by idmakeitbehave



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, basically just an entire rom-com, fate and destiny and all that mushy gush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idmakeitbehave/pseuds/idmakeitbehave
Summary: Christmas Eve: a lost scarf; a misplaced hat; and two strangers, each retracing their steps in search of their missing items. They find so much more.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 140





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite obviously inspired by the film Serendipity :) Hope you enjoy!

It’s just a scarf.

At least, that’s what Spencer tries to tell himself. It’s just a scarf. Just a piece of cloth, no more no less.

Despite that knowledge, he still feels like a piece of him is missing. His hand reaches up to grab the purple fabric out of habit, used to the feel of it, soft and worn from years of wear, between his fingers. Instead he finds nothing, clumsily grabbing the collar of his shirt. He ignores Morgan’s raised eyebrow, turning back to the geographic profile at hand.

Spencer tries to push the thought out of his mind. There are more important things in the world than a lost scarf.

He knows that. He _knows_ that. And yet, he keeps coming back to it.

It’s almost a week later when the team returns, done with the latest case. They’re finally back at Quantico, and Spencer is fully prepared to retrace his steps until he finds the damn scarf.

He should go home, go to sleep. It’s been six nonstop, grueling days of monster-chasing. He’s probably slept all of maybe twenty-four hours in that time and the bags under his eyes are even more pronounced than usual.

He should sleep.

Instead, he finds himself out on the streets of DC. It’s cold, cold and late. He can see his breath, can feel his nose turning red from the chill already. The streets are fairly busy given the lateness of the hour, and it’s only when Spencer walks past an illuminated storefront that he realizes why.

It’s Christmas Eve.

People are bustling through the city, clutching cups of hot cocoa and shining gift bags. Couples walk leisurely hand in hand, stopping to gaze at the decorations, to listen to the music that drifts across the street.

Spencer hadn’t even known that it was Christmas Eve. They had all been so wrapped up in the case that it hadn’t even crossed his mind. The rest of the team had to know- he was sure of it. Hotch must have rushed home to Jack, JJ to Will and Henry. The others must have something to do, somewhere to be, someone to be _with._

And Spencer is out here alone, looking for a goddamn scarf. If he had felt ridiculous beforehand, now he feels downright pathetic.

And still, he looks.

*

It’s just a hat.

At least, that’s what you try to tell yourself. It’s just a hat, it can be replaced. It doesn’t have to feel like such a big deal.

And yet, it is. You had made it yourself, had put so much time and effort and _love_ into that goddamn hat. It was perfect, made with the softest alpaca wool, in the most lovely shade of brilliant blue. You had made it with your own two hands and it was yours- all yours.

And now it’s missing.

After hours of telling yourself that you were being ridiculous and still being unable to let it go, you finally set out to search for it. What’s the use of sitting alone in your little apartment and driving yourself nuts?

Besides, it’s beautiful out. There’s a certain electricity in the atmosphere, an air of expectation that only comes on the eve of a holiday. You may be alone, may be doing something absolutely ridiculous, but that doesn't mean that you can’t enjoy it.

The streets are busy tonight, and you can’t help but feel lonely looking at all of the people out together. Out hand in hand enjoying the lights, the decorations, the trees. You tell yourself that it’s alright, placate your thoughts by buying a cup of peppermint hot chocolate. The woman selling it looks suspiciously like Mrs. Claus without even trying, and her gentle smile makes you grin back instantly. One sip of your drink and you feel just a little better, the warmth spreading throughout as you take in the sights around you.

It’s an absolutely perfect night and you have nothing better to do than to wander the streets of DC, retracing your steps in search of your favorite hat. It might be just the tiniest bit sad, but you can’t help but feel your spirits buoyed as you continue on your way.

You know that the chances of actually finding the hat are fairly slim, but you’re holding out hope. ‘Tis the season, after all.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll find a Christmas miracle.

*

Spencer’s never going to find it.

He’s gone to all of the places he visited on the day the scarf went missing. He had been holding onto the tiniest bit of hope that it might just turn up, despite the fact that it had been more than a week ago.

So far, no such luck. Nothing at the local coffee shop or the used bookstore, and nothing anywhere in between. The only place left is the waterfront, where he had spent the majority of his day off alternating between reading and people-watching. It’s far from where he is now though, and it’s only growing colder. The frost is, quite literally, nipping at his nose and he’s struggling to decide just how much effort he wants to put into finding this scarf, especially given that it’s such a long shot. In all likelihood, he’ll make it all the way there just to find absolutely nothing.

He could just buy a new one.

He tells himself that, but still he knows that it won’t be the same.

Spencer huffs out a sigh before making a decision. Just a few minutes in this park, enough to grab a warm drink and relax, and he’ll go to the waterfront.

It’s not like he has anything better to do, right?

The cart he finds is selling all sorts of drinks, but he finds himself drawn to the peppermint hot chocolate. Can’t help but satisfy his sweet tooth after all. It takes him a moment to realize why the woman making the drinks looks so vaguely familiar. She looks like Mrs. Claus. The realization makes him laugh despite himself, still chuckling as he makes his way across the park.

He plops down on a bench less than gracefully, sighing after taking the first sip of his drink. It’s perfect- just the right amount of sweetness, the warmth of it hitting him all at once.

Spencer’s almost able to forget about the goddamn scarf as he takes in the moment. Almost. It’s a beautiful night, despite the cold, despite his loneliness. His gaze drifts toward the twinkling lights, towards the happy travelers.

But then, he spots something just under the bench. It’s sticking out just the tiniest bit, bright blue in the glow of the lights above. He reaches for it without thinking, hand wrapping around something unreasonably soft.

It’s a hat.

It’s lovely, with intricate eyelets and cables, almost velvety to the touch. He stares down at it, running his hand along the brim. His fingers hit what he thinks must be a tag, and he turns the hat inside out to investigate.

Inside there’s a little piece of fabric, hand-stitched with the words _Y/N’s Knits (Made With Love (and Lots of Coffee!!))_ printed on it.

The silly little phrase makes Spencer laugh, but he can’t stop staring at it. He starts to think about the owner of the hat, wonders if it’s Y/N or someone they had given it to. The thought of someone missing something so obviously made with care makes his heart ache just the tiniest bit. If they’re feeling anything like how he’s feeling about his scarf, he understands.

Spencer fully realizes that they are most likely _not_ feeling quite as desperate as he is, but there’s still a chance.

He finishes his drink, disappointed when the last drop is gone. He’s almost tempted to call it quits, but his mind just won’t let him. He’s already gone through all of this effort, has revisited all but _one_ of the places he had gone that day. If he goes home now, he knows he’s just going to lay awake all night wishing he had finished looking.

He’s sure it’s a waste of time, but he can’t help himself. Once Spencer starts something, he has to see it through.

The hat remains in his hands as he walks. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with it, but if he’s certain of one thing it’s that he can’t just leave it there. It was both made and worn with love, that much he can tell. It wouldn’t sit right with him to leave it there on that empty bench.

He carries it with him, finding the utter softness of it somehow comforting as he brushes his fingers across the cables, across the lace eyelets.

He finds himself thinking about the owner of the hat. He wonders if they’re as lonely as he is, if they’re just as lost.

Spencer never knew something as simple as a hat could make him feel quite so melodramatic.

*

You’re never going to find it.

You’ve just about resigned yourself to that fact. Despite the time you’d devoted to searching, nothing has turned up. At least you can make yourself a new one.

You can, but you know that it won’t be the same.

It would be just the littlest bit easier if you knew _when_ you had lost it in the first place. As luck would have it, you can’t quite pinpoint exactly when it went missing or where you had been.

The one place in the back of your mind is the waterfront. By the ice skating rink, to be more specific. You go there quite a bit, sometimes to skate, but more often to just sit and read, sometimes just stare out across the water.

It’s worth a shot. In all likelihood, the hat is gone forever, but you can’t fight the urge to go see. And besides, it’s a beautiful night, right? The rink is bound to be lit up, decorated for the holidays. It’s something you don’t quite want to miss.

By the time you make it to the waterfront, there’s a distinct chill in the air. It’s going to start snowing, you realize. The weather hadn’t called for it, hadn’t even suggested it as a possibility, but you can just _feel_ it.

It feels right.

Despite your best efforts, the hat is nowhere to be found. Dejected, you plop down on the ground with a sigh, your back against a tree, ignoring the cold wind that stings your face. The sound of laughter coming from the rink brightens your spirits just a little, and you shift so it’s in your line of sight.

Your hand brushes against something, something tangled in the bush beside you. It’s soft and for the briefest moment you think that it might just be your hat. But no, it doesn’t feel quite the same, not quite as silky smooth.

You pull it out, careful not to snag it further on the branches.

It’s a scarf.

It’s purple and soft to the touch, faded from what must be years of wear. The fringe on the end is thin, and it looks as though whoever it belongs to must fiddle with it when they wear it. It looks well-loved.

The thought of this lost scarf makes you sad for some inexplicable reason. You start to wonder about its owner, if they’re looking for it. If they know that it’s lost, if they even care.

Most people would just give up after losing something like this, like your hat. Your fingers toy with the fringe as you stare down at it, and you’re somehow convinced that the owner of this scarf is not like most people.

The holidays are getting to you, going to your head. That’s what you tell yourself. You’re being ridiculous, reading far too much into things. Despite that knowledge, you drape the scarf around your neck.

You don’t know what you’re going to do with it, but you can’t just leave it here, abandoned on the ground. It just doesn’t feel right.

Maybe you should just give up, just go home.

Maybe, but you can’t.

*

Spencer finally makes it to the waterfront, and by now it feels as though his entire body has gone numb. There’s not much out here, where he had been that day. The ice rink looks tiny in the distance, and he can just barely hear the sounds of people laughing. The lights flicker on and off, a warning that the rink is about to close. That’s when Spencer knows that he’s been out here much too long.

After walking up and down the row of benches and peering under each one, he’s found absolutely nothing. He turns his attention back out to the water, the cold wind bringing tears to his eyes. As another gust blows, he comes to yet another realization that probably should have been obvious from the start. The wind. Even on the off-chance that the scarf was ever here, it would have almost certainly been picked up, blown away.

He peers down at the water. If it was ever here, it’s probably at the bottom of the harbor. Either way, it’s gone forever.

Ridiculous. He’s being _ridiculous._ It’s the holidays getting to him, that’s all. That’s what he tells himself, at least.

It’s Christmas Eve and he is completely and utterly alone and all he can think about is this stupid, goddamn scarf. He knows it’s just a piece of fabric, just a meaningless material object. He _knows_ that, but it feels like so much more. It had been with him for so long, it was almost like an extension of himself. It was a comfort, a constant.

Now it feels as though a piece of him is missing. Just another piece, just one more among the many that has been taken from him over the years. He had thought that he’d be able to hold onto that one little piece if nothing else.

Now it feels like there’s nothing left.

He’s being absurd, getting overemotional about a scarf- a _scarf_ for god’s sake. He blames it on the absolute lack of sleep, on the twinkling lights around him, on the laughter echoing from all of the happy people passing by.

The mystery hat is still in his hands, and he finds himself staring at it once more.

He should go home now, try to get some sleep.

He should, but he can’t.

Spencer turns toward the now-empty ice rink instead.

*

Your fingers fiddle with the fringe of the scarf around your neck as you gaze up at the twinkling lights. It’s quieter now, now that the rink is closed. Everyone’s probably headed home, back to their families and their warm beds. Back to the anticipation of the upcoming holiday.

The thought of going home now just doesn’t sit right. You’re still waiting for the snow. Despite the disappointment of not finding your hat, the promise of impending snow makes it feel as though all of this might be worth it. You settle on a nearby bench, perfectly content to wait as long as it'll take.

Eventually just a few flakes begin to fall. They’re light and fluffy, swirling gently with the breeze. They’re beautiful, perfect even.

They feel like the start of something wonderful.

Your hat may be gone forever, but at least you have this.

*

Spencer’s fingers run absentmindedly along the brim of the hat as he walks. He considers just shoving it in his pocket, but he can’t help but hold onto it.

It’s started snowing now. He had no idea it was supposed to snow, hadn’t even considered the possibility.

It comes down lightly at first, the swirling flakes making him feel just the tiniest bit lighter. He never got to see snow growing up, and although it’s been years since his first snowfall, it still fills him with just as much wonder.

Snow still feels like something special, like the beginning of something. It makes him grin despite the chill in the air, despite his frozen fingers and his bright red nose.

His scarf may be gone forever, but at least he has this.

*

You scan the surrounding area for people, content when you realize that the square is completely empty. A few stragglers can be seen in the distance, but they’re all hand in hand, heading home. No one is here, no one is paying attention to you.

You swing yourself up and over the railing, your foot slipping on the ice. Luckily you’re able to catch yourself, and you make your way slowly to the center of the rink.

The snow is coming down quickly now, the flakes thick. They stick to your shoulders, to your hair, even to your eyelashes. You spread your arms out wide, face upturned towards the sky.

If heaven was real, you imagine it would feel a lot like this.

*

Spencer’s still wandering, still heading aimlessly toward the ice rink. The square is empty now, the crowd dispersed. He imagines that everyone’s gone home, eagerly awaiting the morning with their loved ones.

Home.

Spencer should go home.

Instead, he keeps walking. The storefronts are all dark, closed for the night. The only light now is the soft glow of the twinkling lights above the rink.

It’s only when Spencer is almost to the railing that he notices.

Someone is standing in the middle of the rink.

Your arms are outstretched, your face turned towards the sky. Eyes closed, you stick out your tongue, laughing as the fluffy snowflakes land and melt.

You’re mesmerizing.

Spencer moves closer without thinking, watching as you twirl slowly. He makes it to the railing and that’s when he sees it.

The scarf.

 _His_ scarf.

You’re wearing his scarf. Or at least, it looks like his scarf. He tells himself that it’s impossible, that you must just happen to own an identical one.

Spencer got it almost eleven years ago. He’s fairly certain that they haven’t been sold in as long. Still, that’s the only logical explanation.

He’s losing it. That’s what’s happening. He wants so desperately for it to be his scarf that he’s making things up, seeing things that aren’t really there.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he almost doesn’t hear you call out to him.

“It’s snowing!”

It’s quite the obvious, unnecessary statement, and yet Spencer can’t help but smile at the absolute delight in your voice. He looks over his shoulder, trying to locate exactly who it could be that you’re talking to. It’s only when he finds no one that he realizes you’re talking to him.

He turns back to you. Your eyes are open now, shining in the soft glow of the lights above as you look at him. Snow dances around you, dusting your shoulders, landing in your hair.

Spencer doesn’t believe in angels, but if he did, he thinks that they would look a lot like you.

You call out to him again, “Come here!” You’re not quite sure what it is about this stranger, but as he stares out at the ice, out at you, all you want is for him to come closer. There’s just something about him.

Something unfamiliar takes over Spencer. He tucks the mystery hat safely in his pocket and finds himself gracelessly climbing over the railing, holding on for dear life. Something about you, about this stranger in the middle of an ice rink, in the middle of a snow storm, compels him.

He slides awkwardly across the ice, arms practically flailing in an attempt to keep himself upright. You’re laughing now, but not with animosity. No, there’s a certain kind of warmth that emanates from you.

Despite the snow, despite the freezing temperatures, all Spencer can feel is warm.

“Hi,” you say quietly, smiling at him. 

Now that you’re right in front of him, his eyes are drawn to the scarf. He knows he should introduce himself, should say something, _anything_. That’s the polite, reasonable thing to do, but nothing about what’s happening makes sense.

You see him eyeing the scarf, your hand reaching up to toy with the fringe without thinking.

“Your scarf…” It’s all he can say, and he’s fully aware that those probably shouldn’t be his first words to you, and yet here he is.

“Oh, it’s not mine.” You twirl a piece of fringe around your index finger. “I found it and I couldn’t just leave it there. It looks like someone really loves it, if that makes sense? I don’t know, I couldn’t stop thinking that someone must be missing it. I lost my hat and I kind of felt like that, so I just- I held onto it.”

There’s a beat of silence as Spencer stares at you, his eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” you say in a rush. “I must seem like such a weirdo, rambling to a total stranger about a scarf. I just saw you out there and I- I don’t know…” you trail off, shifting from foot to foot.

There’s absolutely no way. Spencer is a man of science, a man of facts and statistics. There’s just no way that this is his scarf, that _you’ve_ found it. And then he registers what you said- about the hat.

“Are you Y/N?”

Shock crosses your face and you take a step back, nodding almost imperceptibly. “How did you-”

Spencer pulls the hat out of his pocket, holding it out towards you. “I found this. And- and I think you found my scarf.”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to widen, your jaw dropping. You reach for the hat, your entire face brightening with the realization that it is, indeed yours.

“Oh- oh my god,” you murmur, pulling it on. “You found it.” Then all at once you realize what he said about the scarf. Your eyes dart up to meet his, and you’re both staring at one another incredulously. You unwind the scarf from your neck slowly, carefully. There’s a heavy pause before you take a step towards him.

Spencer can’t breathe, can’t think. All he can do is stare at you. “I’m Spencer,” he says, his voice just barely above a whisper.

“Hi Spencer,” you whisper back, another smile illuminating your face. You reach out, draping the scarf loosely around his neck. Spencer shivers despite himself at the sudden closeness, the somehow familiar intimacy with which you loop the scarf, your eyes peering up at him.

When your hands leave him and you step away, he can’t help but feel disappointed.

“Spencer?” you ask. “Do you know what serendipity is?”

Spencer swallows thickly, nodding. “The, uh, the occurrence and development of events by chance in a- in a happy or beneficial way.”

You laugh, a bright, brilliant sound. “Mhm, exactly. Now what are the chances that we’re both out here, on Christmas Eve, and that you find my hat and I find your scarf?”

Spencer could probably come up with something, some study on the probability of chance. He could probably tell you that from a statistical perspective, coincidences are inevitable, more ordinary than most people think.

This, however, doesn't feel like a coincidence, doesn’t feel ordinary at all.

It feels remarkable. It feels like a miracle.

“Infinitesimal.” It’s the only word he can think of, the only way he can describe the probability of this happening.

“Do you believe in fate?” you ask suddenly.

Spencer doesn’t believe in fate, has never believed in fate.

And yet, suddenly he does.

He can’t quite find the words to explain all of that, so he settles for nodding again. The air is thick with snow now, the entire world blanketed with a sheet of white. Spencer reaches out to brush a flake off of your cheek, hand moving before he can think to stop himself. He goes to pull away, but you reach up, grasping his hand with your own.

“I’m really, really glad that I’ve met you.” Your voice is quiet, but the smile on your face says everything that you can’t put into words.

It says _Thank you for not giving up;_ it says _I knew I would find you._

It says that this isn’t just about a scarf, isn’t just about a hat. That this is so much more.

That this is the beginning.

The beginning of something extraordinary.


End file.
